


So Sit Down Your Pretty Face

by ialpiriel



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Clothing, Established Relationship, F/F, Flirting, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ialpiriel/pseuds/ialpiriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glory has an attachment to an outsider, one she probably shouldn’t. Dez still doesn’t tell her to cut it off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Sit Down Your Pretty Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChocoChipBiscuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/gifts).



> originally posted on the [fallout kink meme](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6855.html?thread=18188999#t18188999)

“Well hello, stranger,” Magnolia murmurs, slides into the chair across from Glory.

“Hey, Mags,” Glory replies, grins big. Offers a pack of cigarettes. “How’s business?”

“Oh, the usual.” Magnolia waves her hand, plucks a cigarette out of the pack, takes the subsequently-offered lighter. “Had to have Ham throw out a drunk a few days ago. Nothing unusual though.” Takes a drag off her cigarette. Watches Glory fiddle with the neck of her beer bottle, run her thumb in circles around its mouth as she taps her other hand on the table, studies the cracking tile of the floor and peeling finish of the tabletop. “And what about you, Glory Glory Glory?”

Glory laughs, ducks her head.

“Nothing much,” she replies. “Boss has me going everywhere lately. Hardly have a chance to sit down.”

“Well I'm glad you made the time to come around,” Magnolia murmurs. Taps ash off her cigarette. “Always a pleasure to see you, sweetcheeks.” Magnolia grins, and Glory snorts and ducks her head. Can’t keep the smile off her face. Doesn't have to, so she doesn't try.

***

“Hey Dez?”

“Mmmmyeah?” Dez grumbles, rolls over. Carrington and Tom and Drummer Boy are huddled around Tom’s workstation arguing about something just above a whisper, voices blurring into a constant low murmur. The other agents are asleep or on radio duty. Deacon hasn’t been back for a week.

“Magnolia's a weakness.”

“Yeah,” Dez agrees. Picks her knees up, sets her feet flat on the mattress. Flops one hand off the edge, feels around for her scarf. Sneezes into it, snorts once. Leaves it crumpled on her chest. “She is.”

“I was expecting a lecture.” Glory replies, smiles. Is still expecting a lecture. She’s used to the lectures now. Used to Dez’s general disapproval for most things that aren’t her idea.

“And I’d give you one, if I thought it would help,” Dez replies. “Deacon’s off on his wild goose chase, those three--” she waves her hand out at the main room, whacks her knuckles on the brick wall, hisses, “--have their own projects, and I’m up to my neck in synths and agents and recovering from Switchboard, and you’ve got enough ops.” She snorts again, rubs at her nose. “Fucking allergies. If it keeps you from burning out, good. I trust you to not let it compromise HQ.”

“Don’t bring her home, right,” Glory agrees, and Dez reaches over to punch her in the shoulder, snorts again but this time it’s an attempt at a laugh instead of an attempt to not drip. Drops her scarf off her chest, sits up to cough a couple times. Glory watches her, eyes near-closed. Lights are all off, the handful of candles scattered around the main room failing to reach back here. Dez is silhouetted against brick, dark against dark, hair a mess, shirt rumpled, lines in her face worse than they were yesterday.

“I’m giving you a lot of freedom here,” Dez continues. “You’ll outlive the rest of us, if it all goes according to plan.” Digs into her pocket for her pack of cigarettes. Gets one out, has it in her mouth and her lighter a half inch away before she catches herself, reverses her actions. Drops her lighter on top of her scarf, puts the cigarettes away. “We don't need you going the way of Tom,” she says, quieter, softer, low in her chest. Glances back at Glory.

Glory nods.

***

Magnolia offered to get her a dress, tailor it to her narrow chest and wide waist, her thighs that rival Desdemona’s--Dez, who’s eighty pounds heavier and a good portion of a foot taller--fix the straps to accommodate her biceps and traps and delts. Glory didn’t take her up on the offer, slinked into Magnolia’s dress instead, laughed as it bagged over her breasts and clung plastic-tight to her ass and hips and legs. Magnolia had peeled it back off of her, hung it up on the only decent hanger Glory thinks she’s ever seen. Had kissed Glory and pulled her onto the bed.

Magnolia still gives her a dress, the next time they meet. It’s soft green, well-worn cotton.

“I know it’s not your style, babe,” Magnolia tells her, grins wide and lazy as she wraps Glory’s hands around the folded dress. “But take it off my hands, would you?”

Glory ducks into an office building on the way back to HQ, sets up a handful of mines in front of the bathroom, closes and locks the door. Tries the dress on, pulls it on over her grimy undershirt and too-big pants, smooths her hands down the front.

It doesn’t look very good, wrinkled and lumpy over her hips and waist, a little too tight through the chest, clearly not the sort of thing she can layer and still look good in. Maybe Tom still has some of that ballistic weave around, she can get the torso reinforced. Maybe find a pair of better pants to wear under it. As is, she strips off the dress and pulls her coat back on, folds the dress and shoves it into the bottom of her bag. Hauls her minigun up again, disarms the mines and tosses them in her bag, on top the dress, as she leaves the bathroom.

Doesn’t show off the dress at HQ, though Hammerhead would think it's pretty. She’s got a fucking _reputation_ to preserve here, right? Wouldn't do to have Hammerhead thinking she likes wearing dresses.

Still shows it to Tom, on a day where HQ is mostly empty. Just Dez and Tom and her and Carrington. He says he thinks he can get some ballistic weave in it in a jiffy, give him a couple hours of uninterrupted time and he’s got this. 

Dez compliments her on the dress over dinner, when the two of them are on the couch, bent over their greying ceramic plates full of mashed tato and some third-rate cut of brahmin meat Deacon got for cheap at Bunker Hill. 

“Dunno what you're talking about,” Glory replies through a mouthful of food. She’s never gotten over the texture of tatos, still misses the potatoes in the institute. And the tomatoes. And all the other vegetables.

“Sure,” Dez agrees amicably. Makes sure Glory can see her glance at the scrap of green poking out of one of Tom’s desk drawers.

***

“Hey, Mags.” Glory looks up at the ceiling, folds her hands behind her head.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Magnolia rolls over onto her back, rests her hand on her stomach.

“Where are you from?” Glory studies the ceiling. There's a water stain, looks like one of those fuck-off big fish, if she uses her imagination. Lets one of her hands--the one between her and Magnolia--drop to her side.

“Oh, all over. Traveled a lot when was a girl. Dad would play a guitar and I’d sing, and Ma would pass around the hat. Eventually found my way here.” Magnolia traces her fingers over her stomach, reaches over to press their hands together.

“It sounds nice.” Glory lets their hands intertwine.

“Nicer to be in one place. What about you?” Magnolia’s grip tightens.

“Spent my time all over too. Raided for a while, further west. Saw a friend OD on psycho once, though. Got out before it came for me.” Glory keeps her hand still, breathes in the dust of the hotel. It’s better dust than HQ, tastes less like bone and four hundred year old brick, and more like dirt and jet.

“Ooh, a woman with a dark and troubled past.” Magnolia squeezes Glory’s hand. Glory squeezes back.

“Shit, yeah, you could say that. Still think yours sounds better.”

“Only because you never lived it.” Magnolia laughs, rolls further to press a kiss to Glory’s forehead.

***

“Hey, Mags.”

And she would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Glory!” and she turns and there she is. Glory doesn’t stand quite as tall as she did last time she was here, but that was before the explosion at the ruins. Lot of people hit by that. Glory could be one.

“Sorry it took me a long time to get back around here,” Glory apologizes, settled onto the closest sofa. “Got hurt real bad, been on bed rest for a couple weeks.”

“Was it the institute?” Magnolia asks, settles next to her. Charlie turns up the radio. It’s her break anyway.

“Not quite,” Glory replies. “The other assholes.”

“Thought their blimp went up in flames?” Magnolia replies, raises one eyebrow. Glory looks up at her, narrows her eyes.

“It did,” she replies. Her mouth twitches.

Magnolia lets that hang for a moment before she nods.

“Well, I’m glad to see you around again. I’m off in…” She checks the clock hanging behind Charlie. “Three hours. Long time to wait but I’m sure you can entertain yourself.”

“Sure can,” Glory replies. “Especially if Charlie will bring me a beer!” she yells at Charlie, who mutters a string of invective before swooping around the counter carrying a bottle. She grins up at him, hands him a string of caps. He grumbles as he goes back to his counter, and Magnolia sighs as she stands.

“I’m off break here, enjoy your beer.” She considers for a moment, before she bends down, brushes the hair off Glory’s forehead, plants a fat red kiss in the middle, above and between her eyebrows. Glory laughs, grins up at her. Runs her hand down Magnolia’s shoulder as she turns to go, and Magnolia presses their fingertips together as she steps away, back toward the stage.


End file.
